


Shards of Memory

by Mirkwoodmaiden



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Family Feels, Gen, Growing Up, Rainy Days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:08:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24157126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirkwoodmaiden/pseuds/Mirkwoodmaiden
Summary: A rainy day in Imladris and no lessons leads to a ten-year-old Estel learning the story of the Sword-that-was-Broken.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel & Elrond Peredhel
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	Shards of Memory

Shards of Memory

Fall 2941 TA Imladris

One rainy autumn day in Rivendell Estel was meandering around the halls of the Last Homely House. He had been in the weaving room with his Naneth exploring and generally keeping her and the other weavers company when she pleasantly but firmly told him that he had “helped” enough in the weaving room for the day. When she took that tone with him, Estel knew it was time to move on to explore in a different portion of the his Adar’s hall. He thought about whom else he could visit. He had had no lessons for the past week because both Glorfindel and his Adar had been away visiting with Gandalf, which was as much as anyone would tell him. He thought back to the look on his tutor’s face when he read the missive that the messenger had interrupted their geography lesson with the week before. Surprise, mixed with a little sadness. It was the sadness that caught the ten-year-old’s attention for it was not an emotion that he often caught in his tutor’s eye. The day after both he and his Adar left for what they said would be a short trip, but it had been over a week. His curiosity was piqued, but try though he may he could get no information out of anyone. Elmiran said he did not know of any special reason for the sudden trip and the twins were off on another tour of the northern territories with the Rangers with whom they so often rode.

If his arm was not still bound with the wrappings specially prepared to aid with the knitting of his bones, broken after that slight mishap with Adar’s strawberry roan a month ago he could have gone out and practiced more of his bow skills, but the soft yet insistent pitter-patter of the rain upon the rooftop reminded him that his naneth would quickly curtail any outdoor activity for fear of a sniffle or two. 

Estel had been walking directionless for the better part of fifteen minutes when he looked up and noticed where he was. His feet had guided him once again toward the atrium where the shards of the Sword-that-was-broken lay nestled amid deep blue velvet. He stared at the broken sword hilt and pondered what stories lay behind it. He had asked his Adar many times about the sword and how it had been broken, but always Elrond said, “It was broken long ago.” A shadow would cross his face and he would say no more. Estel pondered the stories behind it and envisaged the many battles it had seen until it met its ultimate fate and lay resting here in Imladris. He had never touched the sword before; always there had been a hallowed air about the blade shards that had always dissuaded him. This day, however, was different. The sword seemed to call his name, beckoning him to grasp the sword hilt. Or maybe it was his own overactive imagination on this grey day that was creating the effect. Estel did not think too hard upon it. His unbound hand reached out to touch what he presumed to be cold steel, but he withdrew his hand slightly in shock as he realized that, while the hilt was cold, it still sent a feeling of warmth running through his arm. He gently picked up the sword hilt and a feeling unlike one he had never known spread gently through him. It was a feeling of sadness and resolve. He stood there holding the sword hilt pointed up staring at the broken edge transfixed, filled with these unfamiliar emotions. Before he had touched the hilt he had thought to swish the sword around, enacting one of the many imagined battles it had perhaps seen. But now that he was holding the sword he realized that to play with it would be to do it, and the memories of those battles a disservice, somehow dishonoring the battles themselves. He gently replaced the sword with the intention of leaving it in peace. He turned and stopped short. Elrond, still in his travel-worn cloak, stood not five feet away from him.

Estel stammered out the apology that he felt was necessary. He had never been specifically told not to touch the sword, but after the feeling that touching it evoked, combined with the look upon his Adar’s face at that very moment, he mumbled, “I’m sorry,” curiously as much to the sword as to his aggrieved Adar.

Elrond raised an eyebrow, “To whom are you apologizing, ion nin.” 

Estel looked a little confused, “To you, for touching the sword,”

“Have I ever said not to touch the sword?"

“Well, no.”

“Then why do you feel the need to apologise?”

Elrond walked over to the pedestal upon which the shards of Narsil lay and sat down at its base, straightening his crimson silk robe and motioned for Estel to sit next to him.

Estel sat down very close and nestled up next to his Adar, still shaken by the effects of holding the sword. Elrond, noting his son’s sudden need for affection, put his arm around the little boy and looked into his troubled grey eyes. He smiled gently as he said, “What did you feel when you picked up the sword hilt,”

Estel chewed his lip before replying, “It was not at all what I expected.”

“What did you expect?” Elrond prompted gently.

“Oh, I don’t know. I thought I would feel brave and strong.” A confused look crossed the young face, “But it wasn’t like that at all.” Elrond remained silent allowing the child to tell the story at his own pace, “I felt sad, awful sad and well, determined, I guess. It fit in my hand so well though, Ada. It was really kind of confusing.”

Elrond looked at the child and thought upon all that would be asked of him and inwardly sighed, “Would you like me to tell you the story of the sword and how it came to be broken?”

“Yes, please!” Grey eyes lit in anticipation.

Elrond smiled, though Estel noticed the same troubled look crossing his eyes. The Lord of Imladris thought of all the Heirs of Isildur to whom he had told the story, their faces flitting across his memory. But this time it was different. Every child that Elrond had fostered before Estel had always known their destiny, known who they were and what might be asked of them. It was family lore that he spoke of when he told the story of the Sword-that-was-broken. Estel had no knowledge of his past, yet he had a voracious appetite to know and understand all that was around him. Elrond sat the ten-year-old boy in his lap and placed his arms around the child, kissing the back of his head before beginning the tale. 

“It began as a great battle between good and evil. Elves and most Men fought on the side of good and formed a bond call the Last Alliance.”

“Did you fight in this battle, Ada?”

Elrond paused, pondering what he should reveal and what he should not. He would not lie to the boy, but some omissions in the story were necessary. His involvement, however, was not one of them. “Yes, mellion nin, I was there. With Gil-gilad, the High King of the Elves and Elendil, the King of Men. We stood against the evil that threatened to destroy all that we loved.”

His Adar looked so sad that Estel hesitated to ask, “What happen to them, Ada?”

Elrond did not directly answer his question, but continued on with the story. “The forces of Elves and Men amassed in Mordor.” He spat out the word with such venom that instantly within Estel’s mind an image of vileness and evil was conjured and that image remained with him to end of his days. “And the battle began. At first the Elves and Men had were gaining, but that was before, Sauron himself joined the battle.” Elrond hugged Estel a little closer before beginning the story again. “It was as if evil itself had joined the battle. No one could stand against him. Gil-galad fell after letting fly Aiglos in the hopes of bringing Sauron down with the blow. It failed and Sauron turned his wrath upon the High King who fell where he stood, his life’s brilliant candle snuffed out with obscene ease. Sauron was cutting through our lines. Elendil tried to meet him in single combat. It failed and Narsil fell from the king’s hand. Isildur, his son, despaired at seeing his valiant Adar lying dead and realized that it was futile and desperate but in a last act of defiance he took up his Adar’s sword, broken by Sauron, shattered into the exact pieces that lay upon the velvet above our heads.” Estel looked up at the velvet that was spilling over the pedestal, all wide-eyed wonder, "and he slashed, severing the Dark Lord’s arm at the wrist. Isildur thought he that he did not have long to live. But do you know what happened then?” Estel turned his head to look at his Adar and shook his head, biting his lip in anticipation, “Well, it seemed that Sauron had all his power bound in a small golden ring and this ring he wore on the hand severed by Isildur.” Elrond paused at the memory the deed.

“What happened, then?” Estel prompted.

“No one quite knows, but Sauron simply ceased to exist. All that was left was his armor. He vanished, never to be seen again.” Hopefully, Elrond thought, but not likely as he hugged his son harder.

“You’re squeezing me, Ada!”

Elrond promptly stopped and set Estel on his feet, “Story over!”

“But what happened to Isildur and the Ring,” Estel insisted as he stood in front of his Adar.

What happened, indeed, thought Elrond as he remembered trying to convince Isildur to destroy the Ring as they stood upon the chasm inside Mt. Doom itself. “He kept the ring, against good advice, and it eventually betrayed and killed him.” Elrond said quietly.

“How can a ring kill somebody?” the young boy inquired.

“Because,” Elrond reached up to smooth back a strand of dark hair that had come loose from his son's plaits, then holding both of the small boy’s hands in his own, “It corrupted his mind and made him think himself more powerful than he was. It led him to his death.”

Estel mouthed a voiceless “Oh!” as he looked up and again stared at the shards of Narsil in front of him, this time with the knowledge of their true story. “No wonder the blade seemed sad when I touched it. It is not a happy story, is it?”

“No, my love. It is not.” In an attempt to distract the boy from pondering too deeply upon such matters, Elrond said, “Come, help me to unpack and I shall tell you how Gandalf is keeping.”

Estel’s face dissolved in smiles for he loved the tall, grey-bearded Wizard who visited them from time to time.

Elrond smiled and said softly as he watched the little boy walk out of the atrium. “It is a sad tale but it is not finished yet. There is still hope.”

~*~*~*~*~


End file.
